Friday, June 24, 2011

Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked: Hollywood Parties

Friday, I picked up my paycheck at the Doggie Daycare and swooped up Trent by chance, who also needed to deposit his check.

We ended up at Akbar, a gay bar in Silver Lake, for Happy Hour. Kent met us there and we shared a pitcher of beer.

I said, “So Alan has been communicating with me less lately. I know he has a cold and is preparing for midterms, but should I be concerned?”

Kent, “You should write him a little something supportive.”

Me, “Oh, I was gonna go with making him jealous.”

Trent, “That’s what I would do. See? We are exactly alike.”

Kent, “No no no.”

Kent was going to the Hippie Drug House that evening and I asked to come along. I am going through a phase right now, its not like I do drugs (other than pot) everyday. Its just my mind is being a little adventurous at the moment. And with minimal obligations, I might as well enjoy what I can get away with.

The hill to the house is incredibly steep. My knees could tap the sidewalk on that incline.

As we huffed and puffed upward, Kent breathlessly said, “We gotta work for our drugs.”

When we arrived at the house, there was a guy sitting at the kitchen table, under the spaceships and alien toys. He didn’t say hello to us, but her dog did.

The man said, “This ukelele music is just too much.”

Marcia said, “It kind of is, isn’t it?” She didn’t make a move. She let it play.

Kent bought some more of the same. I asked for shrooms this time. On my limited budget, she gave me a large cap and asked me to give her my number, so she could keep me in her phone.

This is how the business works with her, you see her a few times through a personal reference- then she puts your number in her phone. Voila, you are linked in.

We headed back to his apartment, where I said goodbye and hopped in my car.

The next day, I nibbled and felt a little something. When I arrived at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery to watch HEATHERS with my longtime friend Jeph, I took a little more.

Shrooms are by far my favorite narcotic of choice, maybe next to x. They come with a high that tickles the inside of your gut. At my undergrad, we used to make something called “Gummy Bear Juice” out of it.

You laugh from the gut, those hard cackles that are really hard to come by. You feel warmth towards everything around you. And generally, you hallucinate, ie. if you stare at a pattern long enough, it appears to move. They are easy to come down from, you feel relaxed and calm.

This night, I never took enough to feel really off. I was in control, I knew what was happening and there were no hallucinations. After the screening, the sky was yellow behind all the crooked palm trees. I don’t think I was hallucinating, I think that is actually what Hollywood looked like that night.

I drove to Liquid Kitty in Santa Monica where a fellow actor invited me to Jason Patric’s birthday party. Before heading inside, I took a little bit more of the shroom cap.

I was wearing my skin tight AC/DC Back in Black t-shirt that men seem to drool over, with my skinny jeans. My new bangs fully hung over my face. The lip-gloss made me look almost 70s.

Dean is a bit older than me, early forties, angular jaw, rich and happens to be a great comedy actor, though you would never guess it. He has all these connections.

Anyway, I show up and enter a small room that is barely lit. I waded through people in the dark and saw him. Immediately, he bear hugged me, then hoisted me up into the air and pumped my body up and down. Yes, there was an erection down there.

I said, “Ok . . . ok.”

He was happy, sweaty and I thought high as a kite. He insisted he only had a little scotch.

To my left was the DJ, who was alternating between the Stones and the Doors (with some AC/DC, Violent Femmes, Dramarama thrown in there) which made my heart explode into a unicorn party. Next to the DJ was old black and white film footage of women doing nude dance. Naked, flapper type shit.

Dean introduced me to Sammy, an overweight, half-Russian, half-Italian producer. He hugged me and comfortably wrapped his thick arms around my waist. He said, “What are you having?”

I said, “I am not drinking right now.”

He said, “Come on, whatever you want.”

I said, “Well, since you are twisting my arm . . . how about  beer?”

The cold Heineken felt good on my throat. I saw Jason and Kiefer Sutherland at the bar, but Dean didn’t take me immediately to them. I was introduced to a few other filmmakers and actresses before he led me towards Jason.

Maybe this is a good place to say I FUCKING LOVE THE LOST BOYS!! LOVE, I mean, let me be specific: I made my grandmother buy me a VHS copy for Christmas and watched it over and over again until the thing disintegrated. I was just a little girl with another school-girl fantasy of being trapped in a love triangle with Kiefer and Jason (to be alternated with my TV dubbed YOUNG GUNS). Of course now, I was very much taller than them.

They both came up to my nose.

Jason was wasted. I mean, I don’t remember if we met officially without eye contact, or what the nature of the introduction was. I could tell, however, he was trying to figure out how close to Dean I was.

Dean continued to bear hug me and rock me back and forth. Jason smiled at me from over his shoulder and returned to the ladies at the bar.

God Damn it, Dean, you cock blocked Jason Patric!! Ughhhh.

Then Chris Noth was there. (I heart Big). A few times we caught eyes and I smiled politely. He would suddenly look away. We ran into each other at the door and he stopped, stared and then quickly walked away. I thought a) what assholes, do I have to be a fucking celebrity to get a “hello”  b) they must be on coke and freaked out by my intense eyes. I can be rather intense looking.

Later, I found out that his wife suddenly showed up in the middle of the party, and he shut himself off from everyone but a core group of friends.

They are just celebrities, I mean its not a big deal. Its weird seeing them in person, initially- but they didn’t really influence the vibe of the party very much.

Dean introduced me to some music video director who wouldn’t look me in the eye either. He just heard a song and repeat, “I did this music video.”

He was trying to build up the confidence to talk to Jason and Kiefer about a role, and was actually going to make an offer with money. I said, “Let’s just do it right now. I will say I am your agent.”

He wouldn’t look at me. “I know better than that.”

As it turned out, he got too wasted to ever even talk to them. Tragic.

Everywhere I turned, men kept checking my bottle and offering to buy me a drink. Young men, old men. Men there for Jason, or men just there for drinks. It was a very friendly bar.

A few boys around my age came up to talk to me. One said, “Who did you come here with?”

I said, “I came alone.”

He said, “Wow, brave for a beautiful girl.”

I said, “Well, I have been around. I mean, not around but I have been um . . . around.”

He nodded and smiled.  I would occasionally venture away from the bar, but I didn’t want to get caught in the storm Dean was creating on the dance floor. Dean kept dancing. He was the only one. His wild limbs flung around as he took off his button-up and slithered around in a wife beater, chest hair and a small gold chain.

I would go back to the corner where Sammy sat. He got me another drink, or someone got me another drink.

I said, “I really shouldn’t.”

Sammy said, “Why not?”

I said, “Because I am on narcotics right now.”

A man of about 70 next to him said, “Which ones?”

I laughed and said, “Shrooms.”

They both smiled and the man of 70 said, “Wow, way to go. I am impressed. I am a child of the 60s so I really appreciate that.”

I asked him for a smoke, and he said he was going to step out for one as well.  I lit the wrong end of the cigarette. He plucked the bad cigarette from my fingers and slid in a brand new one.

Then he lit my cigarette and I said, “You are quite the gentleman.”

He was good-looking, around my height, and sober. We had a nice chat outside.

We came back in and Sammy said, “You should know who you are talking to. This guy is a big director, he did (insert movies we have all seen and loved from the 80s). I coolly said, “Wow.”

I really didn’t feel anything at the moment. I am not overpowered by the need to network or kiss his ass or ask him a question about what its like working with so and so. I just wanted to glide along into the night.

Sammy gave me his number and said, “Here, give me a call Monday morning. I will put you in a movie.”

I said, “What if I am a terrible actress? You should see some demonstration of my ability.”

He threw his hand in the air, “Don’t worry about it. Now call me, when? Monday.  I don’t do email, I don’t do Facebook or Twitter or any of that shit.”

I said, “Do I have to call you from a rotary phone, too?”

The 70-yr-old director, let’s call him Tom, laughed out loud.

"The Changeling" came on. The song choices were chimerical. Songs most people don’t ever hear in public dosey-doed with a few cult hits. I actually went  up to the DJ to thank him. He smiled and bowed, as if he was the servant to us. Later, I caught his eye dancing to “My Wild Love”, I stopped and bowed to him, while making a heart with my hands.

Tom said, “Sammy is staying at my place tonight, you don’t have to drive back to Pasadena. You can hang at my place.”

I said, “That’s alright, I am fine to drive.”

He said, “Well, you can come over for a while. Its up to you. The invitation is open.”

The bar was closing. There was no fucking way I was leaving without meeting Kiefer Sutherland. I lusted after him in the 2nd grade after seeing “Amazing Stories,” I mean . . . I used to lie awake at night praying to my Catholic Jesus that we would end up together so we could hold hands. When I found out he was married, I cried. That’s right. I CRIED. I was 10.

So when he and Jason went into the men’s restroom arm in arm, I waited as the rest of the bar emptied out on to the streeet.

They came out stumbling. I stepped in front of them, crossed my legs, waved my hand in the air and bowed. Kiefer stepped up to my face and embraced me. Bear Hug Night!

His sweat was all over me and I chuckled against him as he rocked me back and forth. Irish boys. He released me and walked away without a word. Jason Patric stopped just short of the bar and lifted up his shirt to make sure his 6-pack was still there. I checked. It was.

Dean was eager to spend time with me. He kept talking to me about making babies, and how happy I looked and how great I hugged. Oy. I said, “I get that you want to impregnate me but-“

Then he kissed me. He held my face and tried to keep kissing me.

I said, “Stop that now. I am seeing someone I really like right now.”

He stopped and asked what was going to happen next. I turned to Tom and said, “After party at your place?”

We decided to caravan, of course they were all valet and I was parked one block down the street. So I pulled up and we all left together.

I followed Tom and Sammy into an underground parking lot not far from the bar. Then followed them into a mini mansion, a compact mansion on small real estate plots. They are common in Venice and Santa Monica.

Tom showed me his framed Woodstock tickets and opened a bottle of wine. Oh dear. I took a little more shrooms and sat down. I couldn’t give Dean the address because my reception was totally gone.

Sammy said, “He’ll be fine. He can’t come over now. He was off on his own thing.”

I said, “I promised I would.”

They both said, “Don’t worry about it. Dean is fine.”

I said, “Please call him so he doesn’t think I ditched him.”

Sammy swayed a little over his phone and called as I used the restroom. There I heard him say, “She is leaving right now. She is going home and we are going to bed. Ok? Ok. Talk to you tomorrow.”

I walked out of the restroom and said, “Why did you tell him that?”

Sammy said, “He is going home and gonna sleep it off. I know him, its fine.”

I dumped myself into a designer couch and sipped some red wine. Sammy was drinking scotch when Tom dropped a pill in his hand. Sammy said, “I need more. I NEED MORE!”

Tom said, “Trust me, with the scotch that will knock you out.”

I said, “Um .  . . I am a little worried about you taking strong pills with liquor. It’s very dangerous. I don’t want to have to watch you die tonight. That would traumatize me.”

Sammy dismissively waved his hand in the air.

Tom said, “Trust me, he’s used to it.”

Sammy said, “You know who had a problem? Anna Nicole Smith. I dated her for a couple months. Great girl. She came into my club, this is how I met her, I owned this club 10-15 years ago. She walks in and says to me, ‘I will do anything for mashed potatoes.’ So I turn over to my chef and have him whip up some mashed potatoes, while I buy her drinks and we get to talking and flirting.

Then my chef brings out the mashed potatoes, and I scoop them up and dump them in her brassiere. Just like that (he is motioning with his hands here in the story). So I keep scooping them into her bra, and she is loving it. I fucked her while eating mashed potatoes off of her chest and it was . . . one of the best things . . . it was really nice.”

Tom said, “I always think about my affair with Maria Schneider.”

I said, “Who?”

He said, “She was in a movie called Last Tango in Paris.”

I said, “Oh, I know it well. But she is a lesbian.”

Tom smiled over his glass and let his head fall to the side, “She was on the fence.”

I said, “You had an affair with her?”

He said, “In Spain. But nobody ever believes me.

I was dating a girl that was working on a Jack Nicholson film. Jack’s assistant called me and said, ‘Someone really wants to see you. I have been told to get you a round trip ticket to Spain.’ And I had nothing at the time. I didn’t have any money, or a job or a place but I would do anything to jump on a plane and meet Jack Nicholson.

I get out there, and I will always remember the look she gave me, like ‘There’s my boyfriend.’ You know, ecstatic to see me.”

I said, “You didn’t feel the same way.”

He shook his head slowly, like he was underwater.

He said, “And one day, Maria calls me and says, ‘I need to take a bath and I don’t have anyone to wash my back. So naturally, I went up to her hotel room. She was with a woman named Jo at the time, who was out doing something else.

We took a bath, I washed her back and Jo stumbled in, looked at us and passed out on the bed. I knew she would have had a threesome with us if she were conscious. But she passed out. It’s a shame.

Maria and I went ahead anyway, with her girlfriend asleep in the room. It was an amazing experience.”

I said, “Was that it? Just the one night.”

He nodded.

These guys were living in the past. I wondered where I would be, when I was 70 and telling stories about right now.

We got on the subject of money and I told them I was struggling. I didn’t want to be specific, but I think it helps people know who they are dealing with. I am a nobody.

Sammy said, “Never say that.”

I said, “Well right now I am. I can’t afford my rent. The second half of my rent is going to put me in the red until July’s rent is due. It’s a vicious cycle. I don’t know what to do.”

Sammy said, “What do you need?”

I said, “$495.”

He said, “I’ll give you a check for that. Call me on Monday, I will get you a job at my company. No problem. I will give you the $495 and help you with July’s rent.”

I said, “I am not going to take money from someone who is intoxicated.”

He said, “Just take it. Take it! I would give it to you sober anyway.”

I said, “I would rather wait until you are sober.”

Sammy started nodding off in his chair.

I said, “Why don’t we tuck you in?”

Sammy slurred, “Where am I going to sleep?”

Tom said, “In my daughter’s room. It’s a princess room but the bed is comfortable.”

Sammy said, “No, I am fine.”

I said, “Come on, I will read you a story.” I must have been out of my mind.

So the pattern I have recently identified is when I am out of my mind on drugs, I mother people.

He clumsily climbed halfway into the bed when I found “Horton Hears a Who!”

I said, “PERFECT!”

Tom was in the room as I took off Sammy’s shoes then he gracefully exited as soon as Sammy started pawing at me.

I said, “No no no!”

He said, “Come on, what do you need? I will write you a check.”

I said, “On the fifteenth of May, in the Jungle of Nool . . .”

Sammy said, “Let me eat your pussy.”

I said, “Don’t talk to me that way. I am a lady.”

Sammy said, “Come on, let me eat your pussy. I am sooooo good at it.”

Me, “We are in your friend’s house and you are propositioning me?”

Sammy, “He doesn’t care.”

Me, “Stop this. Don’t do it.”

Sammy, “Let me eat your pussy.”

I got up outraged, “Eugh. Disgusting.” I angrily threw the rest of the blanket over his exposed leg.

Sammy sat up and gave me a look of Italian disgust and said, “I am doing you a favor. Do you know who I am?”

I said, “Oh, you are doing ME a favor. Wow. Thanks.”

Sammy (this time, child-like), “I just want to take care of you . . . “

I said, “I was going to read to you but now you’ve ruined it. Good night.”

He said, “Wait, wait wait . . . let me say one more thing.”

I said, “Before you do, I want you to think about my mother.”

Sammy, “Let me eat your pussy.”

I exhaled a dry barf, gasped and left outraged, but not angry. I mean, its ridiculous and rude, and disgusting . . . but that’s Hollywood.

I walked downstairs and Tom was sitting there with a couple Parliaments and a bottle of wine. He even had the fireplace on . . . in June . . . in Los Angeles. J

I said, “Thanks for leaving me up there.”

Tom said, “I knew you could handle yourself.”

I think he was testing me or something.

Me, “So how did you become a director?”

He said, “I taught (insert big celebrity from the 70s)’s niece how to ski. He said he wanted to return the favor, so I told him what I really needed was a recommendation to USC film school and he wrote me the letter. Its laminated in the bathroom.”

I went in and read it.

I said, “That’s nice. I wish he would treat women better. I have heard horrible stories.”

Tom said, “We all have stories.”

I said, “Yes, but one should never urinate on a lady.”

We ran out of cigarettes and he offered to drive us to CVS to pick up more.

In the car:

Me, “I love Gene Hackman. What was it like working-“

Tom, “He is Satan.”

I laughed.

Tom, “I am not even kidding. Next time you see him on screen, look into his eyes.”

In the Mansion:

I told him about my documentary.

He said, “Wow, I had no idea.”

I said, “Well, you know, I did come out here to be a filmmaker. It’s just too taxing. It took all my money; I am still paying it off and not seeing a dime. I haven’t heard from my sales rep in years, and he is the one who gets the checks. I am assuming he is just cashing them in himself.”


Tom said, “You could sue him.”

I said, “I will, when I am rich.”

Then I told him I write, namely this blog.

I said, “I write about everything so . . . let me just apologize in advance. I keep things anonymous but . . . I write about everything.”

He smiled and asked for the name and my phone number.

I said, “I can just call your phone.”

He said, “I am a pen and paper kind of guy.”

I said, “Oh. Do you have email or do I have to use smoke signals with you, too?”

He laughed and said, “No, I have email. Give me the name of the blog.”

I did.

He laughed, again. He was giddy.

I didn’t feel like I was tripping on psychedelics. I just felt comfortable.

We spoke about the African who made his furniture without profit. (Yeah right, an AFRICAN is going to make a rich director furniture without profit.)

And the Amish made the dining room table.

It was interesting to me that he was surrounded by all this spiritually inspired furniture and didn’t seem spiritually inspired himself.

Then he reached in and kissed me.

I thought about two very specific things:

1)      I thought about how I told myself, if it didn’t work out with me and Abe, I would sleep with a high powered director as a social experiment to see if it got me anywhere.

2)      I thought about Alan. In my mind I kept saying, “I am sorry. I am sorry.”

I did kiss back. So please stop accusing me of only being interested in younger men. I like Tom but . . . Alan and I have been talking every day since our first date. I adore our conversations. What the fuck was I doing?

I pulled away.

He said, “You kiss like a demon.”

I said, “Dude, don’t say that when I am tripping on shrooms.”

He said, “Why? Take it as a compliment. Evil is powerful.”

I pushed away and muttered, “I am not evil.”

I mean . . . I’m not.

Tom said, “No, I like the way you kiss. I would like to do this the right way and take you out.”

I said, “I would like that. I am a nice girl.”

Tom said, “I think this could be interesting. I appreciate this whole conversation, I appreciate the upfront honesty and the intelligence and just your personality. The only thing I see about us not working out is the age difference.”

I said, “Tom, we aren’t going to work out.”

He said, “Well . . . I know . . . but I would like to take you out anyway and show you a couple things.”

What am I? An idiot. Of course I wouldn’t mind spending an afternoon or evening with a professional director who treats me like a lady.

The sun was coming up and I said, “I have to go.”

Tom said, “Why don’t you lie down with me in my bed?”

I said, “No no no. You know better than that. I know you need to sleep so I am gonna get out of here.”

He said, “Don’t you!?”

I laughed and said, “Need to sleep? Not really. That’s the funny thing about me.”

He said, “That’s weird, like Twilighty.”

I stood up and looked down on him.

I said, “Oh please! I am not a vampire!”

He shrugged his shoulders in uncertainty and said, “I don’t know.”

I couldn’t believe after taking magic shrooms and drinking 4 units of alcohol, I was still of more sound mind than anyone else I met that night.

Before I left, he said he never thought he would feel what he was feeling again before he died, and thanked me. It was kind of sad and romantic.

I got in my car and drove home in the early morning mist off the Pacific Ocean, something I miss since I moved from the west side. You can taste the saltwater in the air.

As I got on the freeway, I called Alan and told him about the Eating Pussy scenario and the “You’re a demon” conversation.

He said, “It sounds like a bad trip You should not be going out alone in public on hallucinogenics.”

I said, “I’m fine, its ok. Its just, I don’t think my actions tonight honored you. I want to honor you. What type of girl goes to someone’s mansion and puts herself in that position? I want to do right by you and I feel like you deserve a better girl than me.”

He said, “Um . . . we have only been dating for 2 weeks. You don’t have to worry about honoring me. This is part of the business. Part of being an actress is going to director’s houses. I get that. You might want to be careful with who you sleep with, because it could hurt your reputation. Just be calculating and careful. We are both in evil businesses. Just never lie to me and you won’t hurt me.

And next time someone offers you a role in a movie, make sure you have an agent there with a contract ready to sign. That’s how this business works.”

His knee jerk reaction wasn’t betrayal, though there was a hint of jealousy in our next Gchat conversation when he suggested buying me mace and a pocket oozie before the next Hollywood party.

The thing with Abe was I did everything to keep that relationship honorable. I never lead anyone on, I was never looking over his shoulder, everything I did kept his best interests in mind. I was 100% loyal to him.

With Alan on my side, I see a different kind of relationship. Instead of family dinners (he doesn’t know his and mine aren’t talking to me) and jealous spats, we would strategize and be on the level. We would keep our best interests in mind.

We would be . . . a power couple.

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